


Last Woman Standing

by Geyranger



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Clexa Week 2017, F/F, It's a game of murder assassin which gets massively out of hand, Murder assassins AU, Raven takes the lead in an arms race, also Octavia starts channeling jack the ripper, and two lone warriors realise they are surprisingly good at murder, inspired by the paintball assassin episode of Community, the football team becomes a surprisingly apt army
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10106327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geyranger/pseuds/Geyranger
Summary: For Clexaweek2017 Day 7: Open dayWhen people think about war, they tend to think about soldiers, guns, generals and battles. Few ever think about logistics, about the basic human needs which still needs to be met for the soldiers to be able to fight. Food. Water. Sanitary facilities, that sort of thing. Yet they are equally important as ammunition and infantry, and wars have been won over them.That notion probably didn’t do much to cheer up Roan Azgheda when he went to the men’s bathroom about thirty minutes later, and got ambushed by two girls hiding in a bathroom stall. Three nerf gun darts stuck to his forehead and Lexa’s plastic knife held to his throat, he swore loudly and gave up his piece of paper to Lexa before stalking out of the room.orThe murder-assassin game AU you always knew you needed





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreamsAreMyWords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsAreMyWords/gifts).



> Based on a tumblr prompt that's been floating around for a while: Murder time at college- a game where everyone gets a plastic knife and a name, knives are shoved under your door at midnight and next week you have to try and ‘kill’ the person you got, and then you get whichever name they had and keeps going until there's only one person left. 
> 
> Dedicated in its entirety to DreamsAreMyWords, who has read about seven drafts of this and without whom it would definitely not have been written! I love you fellow hp queen, long may you reign xxx

“Octavia? You ok?”

Octavia was standing bent over the body she just killed, reading the scrap of paper which was her due reward. She had a funny look on her face; one Clarke couldn’t quite decode. The body on the floor gave a long groan. Octavia didn’t look up from the paper before kicking it in the side.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“You’re supposed to be dead, Bellamy. Dead people don’t talk.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes before closing them again.

“You realise this is just a game, little sis?”

Octavia looked at him then, and Clarke could see her eyes shining with a vicious glow.

“It’s a game to the losers, Bell. To us winners, it’s survival.”

Octavia fired a shot from her nerf gun, hitting him in the middle of the forehead. The orange suction cup dart waved back and forth ominously, bearing witness to another fallen soldier.

Octavia had taken a dark turn in this game, Clarke decided. She started to slowly back away, away from her friend and recently deceased brother who was trying not to laugh. “Octavia,” she said again, louder, as she got to the door leading to the hallway, “who’d you get?”

Clarke had two dark lines of war paint on each cheek, which had gotten smudged during the fighting. Octavia had lines to match, but hers were impeccable, even after days of war. Octavia might have taken a turn and bloomed into the dark, sadistic assassin they all knew she would one day become, but Clarke wasn’t dumb. Her hand hovered over the nerf gun strapped to her belt as she slowly walked backwards.

Octavia looked up at her, a predatory gleeful grin on her face which would have made Jack the Ripper thought better of it and quit to become a beekeeper.

Clarke bolted.

Out the door, down the hall, and around the corner into another corridor. The ground here was littered with bodies; the rule was, after you died you had to stay down for 30 minutes so that other players could loot you before you were free to go home. Clarke knew why the bodies here were still warm; she had helped put them there, when Octavia had still been on her team.

That, and they were physically still alive of course. But not in the game. Not where it mattered.

War was tough.

Clarke could hear Octavia running after her, and a nerf dart shot past her shoulder. Clarke cursed, used her momentum to leap up on the wall, kicking off and crashing through the door on the opposite side of the hall.

The library. Good. A forest of knowledge, where the laws of nature ruled. Not even the mighty tiger can kill a hare unless it can catch it first.

Clarke jumped over the librarian’s desk and crashed to the floor half a second before Octavia came flying into the room from the same door Clarke had used. Octavia looked around, gleeful, murderous grin never leaving her face, and started checking behind bookshelves. Luckily for Clarke, she walked the other direction first, over to the hideous and uncomfortable sofas which the university claimed were perfect for study groups.

“Claaarke... Come out and plaa-aay...”

Their campus was in ruins; there was no better word for it. Shattered windows, spray paint on the walls, cheerful banners which had once held school mottos laying in tatters in the hallways. None of that mattered anymore. Only the game mattered.

The game of murder assassin had started unexpectedly on Friday morning, when everyone had woken to find a piece of paper shoved under their dorm doors, along with a plastic knife from the cafeteria. The game was simple; find whoever was on your card. Hold the knife to their throat and declare them dead. Receive their piece of paper, and do it again. The game continues until there is only one man standing.

Clarke was dead set on being that man, or, woman. She and Octavia, being roommates, had decided to team up from the beginning, knowing that sooner or later one of them would betray the other. Clarke had been hoping it had been her, though. She had a whole schpiel prepared with a sobbing monologue about how she would never betray her best friend, which she was going to deliver with conviction right before stabbing Octavia in the back. It would have been legendary. Unfortunately, Octavia had gotten there first.

You can’t kill anyone who isn’t on your piece of paper. You can’t kill anyone when they are in their dorm room, or when they are naked. Other than that, it was open season. Murder season.

The worst of the massacres had happened on Friday morning, while people were still going to classes; people would get together in mobs and raid classrooms, sometimes taking out ten, twenty people at a time. It didn’t take long before the students realised that this was no longer a college campus; it was a war zone. It was bloody. It was brutal. But that, Clarke now knew, was what war was about. The weak fell early. The strong remained.

By lunchtime on Friday, no one was going to classes anymore. The professors, fearing for their own lives and safety, had all sought refuge in the staff areas and barricaded the doors, sneaking out only when the clock turned five and they could beeline to their cars without missing pay. The chess club was the first to organise into a gang; taking over a study room, they had left pawns out to patrol the hallway while the leadership sat safe and sound inside. They had been taken down by assassins from the cheerleading squad, who had been the first to use seduction as a means by which to get close to their target. The poor chess players hadn’t known what hit them.

Clarke kept her head down, looking frantically around for an exit. There was only a matter of time before Octavia would find her. Clarke needed a way out. Now.

A game changer had come at midnight on Friday, when the kids in the glee club kicked down the door to the dean’s office and got control of the intercom. In the interest of fairness, they declared, to the tune of an uninspired rendition of a Madonna song, nerf guns were now an active part of the game. If you get hit, you stay down for ten seconds per dart before you can get up again. There was some debate initially about whether this new rule would be accepted, but the jocks on the football team started using nerf guns and breaking the bones of anyone who didn’t respect the rule. After that, there were no more questions.

That’s when Raven had abandoned the team. She had initially joined Clarke and Octavia’s coalition because she had gotten Finn on her note and knew that Clarke would want in on taking him down. It was only fair, they agreed, as Octavia dangled him out of a window on the third floor by his ankles, Clarke and Raven waiting leisurely on the floor below and holding their plastic knives to his throat. But everyone knew Raven had a 45 calibre nerf gun which could shoot 50 rounds a minute, and when the announcement came she amicably abandoned Clarke and Octavia to go and get it. She had made it herself during their first year at university, as a response to an editorial in the student newspaper titled ‘has science gone too far?’. Rumour on the streets had it she was now holding up on the roof somewhere, charging tolls in nerf darts from anyone who wanted go past her without getting shot.

It was now midday on Saturday, and those who hadn’t found a safe place to sleep for the past night were getting tired. Octavia was getting closer, her sing-song voice starting to grate on Clarke’s nerves. Clarke looked around desperately, but there weren’t many resources she could use behind the librarian’s desk. A trash can, a stack of books, a small bottle of whisky hidden discretely under a stack of papers. And… three screws.

Clarke pocketed the whisky, thinking that you can never be too prepared, and reached over to pick up the screws. They were small, and metal, almost like…. Clarke turned around, and sure enough, the ventilation grate behind her was missing three screws. It yielded to Clarke’s touch without much resistance. Clarke didn’t look back, only squeezed her body into the shaft beyond it as quietly as she could, gently closing the grate with her foot. Octavia kept singing. Clarke let out a relieved breath and continued forwards into the shaft, rounding a 90-degree corner.

And found herself immediately face to face with a nerf gun, three inches from her forehead.

“Er…”

Following the hand that was holding the gun, Clarke was now staring at an uncommonly hot brunette with an expression so cold it could probably freeze flames. Or, put out flames. Freeze a fire? Whatever.

The sheer and fierce beauty of the woman in front of her made Clarke’s brain take a moment to restart.

“I,” Clarke whispered, carefully lifting her own hands above her head, or as close to above her head as she could get within the confines of the tunnel, “am not here to kill you.”

The brunette’s eyes narrowed. Not only was she hot, but she was also fearsome. “Then why are you here?”

Even the sound of her voice was hot. How.

“I’m hiding. Same as you, I imagine.”

That didn’t placate her much. “This is my ventilation shaft,” she whispered.

“And what a fine ventilation shaft it is,” Clarke answered, “wait, let me guess.” She experimentally knocked on the cold aluminium side of the shaft with her knuckle, a dull metallic sound resonating between them. “Oak?”

The brunette didn’t lower her gun, but Clarke could see the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Listen, my friend Octavia got my name, and she is searching the library for me right now. I’ll trade you a bottle of whisky if I can hide in your beautiful oak ventilation shaft for half an hour. Deal?”

The woman hesitated, but eventually took Clarke’s outstretched hand.

“Deal.”

Clarke let out a breath. “I’m Clarke Griffin.”

“Lexa Woods,” she replied, shaking Clarke’s hand briefly. “Did you say Octavia was searching for you? Octavia Blake?”

“Do you know her?” Clarke replied. She couldn’t be a friend of Octavia’s. Clarke would have known about it if any friends of her friends were that hot.

“No, but I know who got her name. You can find the assassin and help her get to Octavia.”

Clarke hadn’t thought about that.

“Lexa, that’s genius! Who is it?”

Lexa smirked. “What will you trade me for it?”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. She had already promised Lexa her whisky bottle, and the only other thing of value she had was her nerf gun darts. No way was she giving those up; a soldier was only as good as her weapon.

“I don’t have a lot,” Clarke said truthfully. “What name do you have? Maybe I can help you find them.”

Lexa grimaced. “It’s not finding him that’s the problem; I know where he is. I got Roan Azgheda.”

Clarke whistled. “That’s bad luck.”

“I know. He’s holding up in the gym with the others from the martial arts squad.”

“Ok, how about this; I help you take down Roan, and then you tell me who got Octavia’s name. Sounds reasonable?”

Lexa nodded. “Sure. We just need to get out of the ventilation system first; it doesn’t extend between buildings. I’ve checked.” In a feat of flexibility, Lexa turned around. “Follow me.”

Clarke followed Lexa as they crawled through the shaft. It gave her an amazing view of her butt which Clarke was definitely not looking at, and led them out in a corridor a few doors down from the library. Clarke could still hear Octavia’s voice as she followed Lexa and snuck out the main doors, jogging towards the gym building.

They stopped suddenly, about 30 yards from the doors to the gym, when Clarke realised they both had pinpoint lasers aimed at their chests.

“Who goes there?”

It was Raven. She was sitting on the small roof directly above the doorway, and she was surrounded by what looked like ten to fifteen freshmen, all armed with nerf guns pointed at Clarke and Lexa.

“Raven? Who are all these people?”

Raven’s face lit up when she recognised Clarke. “Clarke! Oh, these? They are my Queen’s Guard. They traded their services for the protection of good old Black Maria here.” She fondly patted the gigantic nerf gun at her side, which she had mounted on a metal frame.

“Did you equip them with the laser pointers on their guns too?”

“Yep. Not that it improves the accuracy of a nerf gun much, but it looks pretty damn cool. It lets people know we mean business. Monty here is on the case of getting us uniforms.” She indicated to one of the freshmen, who was sitting with a laptop and gave a friendly wave to Clarke. “Amazon Prime Now delivers in fifteen minutes. What’s the point of an army if they’re not dressed to impress, that’s what I always say.”

Clarke grinned. Lexa was standing motionless next to her, watching the spectacle with an amused expression. “I thought your catch phrase was ‘but Professor, high voltage electricity isn’t _meant_ to be safe.’ ”

Raven waved her off. “Where’s Octavia? I thought you guys were out to take down Blake senior.”

Clarke grimaced. “We were. Unfortunately, in his cold and dead hands he was clutching a piece of paper with my name on it, and Octavia wasted no time in going rogue. As you can see,” Clarke gestured to Lexa, “I have upgraded my team instead.”

Raven nodded approvingly. “She’s hot. I like her.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. Lexa raised an eyebrow.

“So, Raven Reyes, first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men; what’s your price?”

In the end Raven charged them three nerf darts each, which made Clarke protest but they were informed it was at a highly-discounted friend-rate. That left Clarke and Lexa free to go into the gym, sneaking along the walls as they headed for the main sports hall. Lexa was in front, and Clarke had to try really hard not to let her eyes rake up and down her body. God, she was hot. Clarke was infatuated. The came to a stop at a corner, Lexa sneaking a glance around it.

“The doors to the hall are open: looks like they’ve made some sort of barricade with the acrobatics equipment at the far end. It looks pretty well defended.”

Clarke carefully snuck up to her, leaning close to have a look around Lexa and down the direction she was looking in. She was so close Clarke could feel the heat coming from her body.

This was going to be a long game of murder assassin. I mean, war. This was going to be a long war.

“So,” Lexa whispered close to Clarke’s ear, “how do we take out Roan?”

Lexa’s voice this close did funny things to Clarke’s insides. Clarke looked up at Lexa but got distracted by the proximity. She chanced a glance down at her lips, and back up at her eyes. Lexa bit her lip and Clarke thought she might melt on the spot.

Clarke took a step back. They were at war. She needed to keep her focus. Maybe later, though.

“I have a plan,” Clarke said, “but it’s a good one. It’s going to cost you.”

Lexa looked mutinous. “You already promised to help me with Roan!”

“Yeah, but if I am going to have to do all the work myself, I am going to charge extra.”

Lexa grumbled. “What do you want?”

“I’ll settle for my whisky back.”

“Well, you never actually gave it to me in the first place. It’s a deal. What’s the plan?”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

When people think about war, they tend to think about soldiers, guns, generals and battles. Few ever think about logistics, about the basic human needs which still needs to be met for the soldiers to be able to fight. Food. Water. Sanitary facilities, that sort of thing. Yet they are equally important as ammunition and infantry, and wars have been won over them.

That notion probably didn’t do much to cheer up Roan Azgheda when he went to the men’s bathroom about thirty minutes later, and got ambushed by two girls hiding in a bathroom stall. Three nerf darts stuck to his forehead and Lexa’s plastic knife held to his throat, he swore loudly and gave up his piece of paper to Lexa before stalking out if the room.

Lexa read it carefully. Clarke was staring at Lexa, more than a little turned on by the way she had gone into a terrifying battle mode when they ambushed Roan. Now Clarke’s attention was drawn to her long, elegant fingers clutching the piece of paper, and the way her lips moved subtly while she read.

God, Clarke wanted to kiss those lips. Maybe not in a dirty men’s bathroom, but sometime soon.

Lexa looked up and caught her staring. Smug grin slipping onto her face, Clarke decided it was time to move on.

“Who’d you get?”

“Monty Green.”

Clarke whistled appreciatively. “He’s in Ravens gang. Good luck taking on Black Maria, Lex.”

That took the grin off her face. “Who do you have, anyway?”

“Aiden Lockwood. I got his name after disposing of one of the goons back in the library hallway, before Octavia started channelling Assassin’s Creed. I have no idea who it is, but I haven’t had a chance to go on Facebook and look him up yet.”

Lexa’s face broke into a grin again, and Clarke forgot how to breathe.

“He’s one of Raven’s freshmen too, the red-haired kid on the right when we came in. It looks like you are stuck with me for a little longer, Griffin!”

Wow. Tragedy. Clarke set up a mental reminder to sacrifice a goat to the gay gods one of these days.

“Looks like it. I’ve upheld my part of the bargain, though; tell me who has Octavia as a target.”

“Anya Franklin.”

Clarke grimaced. “The one from the archer’s club? I heard she’s such a cow. Proper bitch.”

“She’s one of my oldest friends, actually.”

Whoops. Sacrifice to the gay gods officially retracted.

“Sorry.”

Lexa didn’t look fazed.

“Don’t be. When the games started yesterday she physically picked me up, shoved me in a locker and promised to play the game until she got my name and then come back and kill me. She’s pretty ruthless. “

Clarke was horrified.

“She locked you in a locker?!”

Lexa looked at her. “I mean, it only took me like two minutes to break the lock and escape. But yes. Those early hours on Friday were brutal for all of us. Are you saying that you wouldn’t have done the same to Octavia right now if you had the chance?”

Clarke had to concede the point. Either way, Lexa grinned at her and made her lose her train of thought.

“Right then, Clarke. How do we take down Raven?”

“Our best bet would be superior firepower.”

“Clarke, she literally has a machine gun,” Lexa checked her bag, “and I’ve got a grand total of two darts left.”

Clarke checked her semiautomatic. “I’ve got twelve.”

Clarke looked at Lexa. She was rummaging around in her pockets for any stray darts she might have missed, long fingers tentatively running over her thighs in the process. Her hair was falling out of the braids they had been in, coming down to frame her face. Clarke’s breath hitched.

“Tell you what, Lexa. I’ll trade you half of mine for your phone number.”

Lexa’s smug grin was to die for.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Camp Raven fell at sundown. In the days following the event there were many who claimed to have witnessed it, but few who could tell you anything in detail about what happened. None of the former Queen’s Guard agreed to talk to the journalists from the student newspaper, and Raven herself didn’t return to campus for a week. The only thing anyone seemed to agree on was that two spies had infiltrated the ranks of the army, and worked hard to create friction and conflict from within. Some say they led a mutiny, taking over the heavy artillery and wasting every single dart accumulated from almost twenty hours of heavy tolls. Others say they slipped in unseen and wore fake uniforms to assassinate two low-ranking guards, and that the remaining members of the battalion turned on each other when it became apparent that being in the guard was not as safe as they had been led to believe. Whatever the truth may be, I am afraid we shall never know. 

Clarke and Lexa jogged across the quad.

“That was pretty impressive.”

Clarke nodded in agreement. “We took out about 20 people in half an hour. And we didn’t fire a single shot.”

Lexa grinned at her, and Clarke’s heart skipped a beat. She really needed to get a grip on that.

“Who did you get?” Lexa asked.

Clarke looked at the note she had been given by a sullen-looking Aiden. “Indra MacMillan. Hey, I know who that is! Scary woman, hangs around with Anya. Who did you get?”

Lexa showed Clarke her note. On it, in bold letters, were written two words: Anya Franklin. Lexa’s shit-eating grin was on point. “It’s payback time for the locker.”

Clarke smiled back. “It’s not unlikely that we will find those two together, then. Would you care to accompany me for a while longer, Miss Woods?”

Lexa rolled her eyes so hard Clarke thought they might disappear out of her skull entirely, but she didn’t stop smiling.

“It’s getting dark,” Lexa observed. “Most people haven’t slept for almost 40 hours. It should be a quiet night.”

“Did you sleep on the first night?”

“Yeah, in the ventilation shaft.”

Clarke snorted. “Dignified. I didn’t sleep, though, and I think my aim is starting to suffer from it. I suggest we get some supplies and set up camp somewhere.”

“Which dorm building are you in?”

“Peterson. It’s the other side of campus.”

“Damn, me too. That’s too far; we’ll never make it.”

“Cafeteria?”

“Good idea. If you can get your hands on a burrito, I might be willing to trade you back some darts.”

There is a principle in ecology called ‘water hole theory’. It states that in any ecosystems there will be coveted, limited resources which are sometimes spatially confined. Water holes are one such resource, the only tree for miles and miles which birds can nest in is another. This principle is echoed across the globe, from the only place on the river Nile where it is shallow enough for cattle to cross, to the only burrow deep enough to protect the hare from the lynx. Whoever controls the water hole, controls the world.

The jocks from the football team had taken over the cafeteria. All the furniture had been barricaded against the doors, with only a single, heavily guarded entrance left. Anyone wanting passage was required to surrender their guns, plastic knives and ammo at the door. On the inside was a well-functioning, self-sustained society.

Clarke and Lexa, weaponless, stood blinking in the light from the overhead lamps, keeping the darkness of night from outside the large windows at bay. In one corner of the cafeteria a couple of guys were having a contest about who could do the most push-ups, a group of their peers cheering them on from the side. In another corner, someone had glued a trashcan to the wall ten feet up and started a game of basketball. Someone had opened up the Dunkin’ Donuts shop, and judging from the happy whistling coming from the back they were making donuts to feed the garrison of footballers.

“How…” Clarke turned slowly in a circle, observing the surroundings, “How is this possible?”

“I don’t know,” Lexa replied, sounding equally disbelieving.

“Hey, Clarke! Lexa, good to see you’re still alive!” A large figure was walking up to them, waving cheerfully. Lincoln, Octavia’s boyfriend.

“Hi, Lincoln. Octavia isn’t here, is she?”

He looked confused. “No, I thought she was with you.”

Clarke let out a breath. “Well, thank God. How do you know Lexa?”

Lexa replied for him. “We’re in the same intro to international politics class.”

Lincoln grinned. “Yeah, and we’re both on the track team. And we went to the same high school. And the same middle school. And the same primary school and day care. Seriously Clarke, if you want to see baby pictures of Lexa, I am your go-to guy. I’ve got a particularly good one with her taking a bath in the toilet at daycare; I’ll give it to you free of charge.” He winked at Clarke.

Clarke laughed as Lexa blushed and sent Lincoln a dirty look. “I’ll keep that in mind. Can you explain what all this is for us?” Clarke gestured vaguely to the scene around them.

“Ah,” said Lincoln, “You are looking at the pride and joy of the sports department. It started when some guys from the soccer team were raiding the cafeteria for hot pockets last night, and ran into a gang from the football team looking for pop tarts. They had a bit of a fight, as you can see,” he gestured over to two guys happily munching on burritos over in the corner and sporting matching black eyes, who both looked up and smiled at them, “but then they decided to join forces. The original thought was to include just the people on sports teams, but then they realised people were willing to pay in snacks just to have a safe place to rest for a while. And _voila_ , Fort Sportsball.” He said the last two words extra loud, and a cheer went up around them. A few jocks even went so far as to stand up from their seats, raising their hand to their foreheads in a military salute before being punched in the shoulder by their bros.

“Fort… Sportsball?” Lexa said, looking at Clarke. Clarke tried not to laugh.

“Yeah!” a random jock shouted from a nearby table, where he was stuffing his face with donuts. Apparently, most people were listening to their conversation. “We even have a banner!” He indicated proudly back towards the doorway they had come in from, above which a large banner in the university’s colours proclaimed the cafeteria to be Fort Sportsball.

“Impressive,” Lexa said, and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. Clarke swooned.

“Tell me one thing, though, Lincoln,” and Lexa put just enough emphasis on his name that Clarke suspected she hadn’t quite forgiven the comment about the baby pictures yet, “How is it that you upstanding gentlemen,” here she raised her voice, to be sure that everyone in the room heard her, “managed to get three spelling errors in two words?”

Clarke had noticed it too. Fort is spelled with a _t_ , not a _d_ , and sportsball, as far as it _is_ a word, is definitely spelled with two l’s and no space between ‘sports’ and ‘ball’. But Clarke had also noticed that she and Lexa were standing in the middle of a group of about twenty football jocks, drunk on war and pop tarts, so she wasn’t planning to _say_ anything about it.

Lexa, apparently, had other priorities. Now that she had the undivided attention of everyone in the room, she calmly squared her jaw and looked Lincoln straight in the eye. “Pathetic.”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Clarke and Lexa were running down the corridor like their lives depended on it.

“You,” Clarke panted, rounding a corner and dashing down the hallway, Lexa hot on her tracks, “are _unbelievable_. What did you _think_ was going to happen?!”

“This is war, Clarke,” Lexa replied, and her breathy voice did things to Clarke’s body which she really didn’t have the time to think about right now, “we do not give up our ideals and suck up to the football jocks, and we do not sell out for pop tarts. That being said,” she dashed down a side corridor she had spotted, yanking Clarke by the hand, “I thought they would just kick us out of the fort, not chase us out of the building.”

They had luckily managed to grab some plastic knives and their nerf guns when they sprinted out of Fort Sportsball, twenty angry football baboons on their heels. At least they had made it out, Clarke thought, partly thanks to being quick and partly because Fort Sportsball for all its virtues wasn’t very well-organised. Still, essentially blasting through a solid wall of chairs and tables had given Clarke a bruised knuckle and Lexa a cut in her side. Now the Fort had them both outnumbered and outgunned, and they needed a new plan. Pronto.

Even while running for her life, Clarke found the time to shake her head disbelievingly. “I _cannot_ believe this. Give me one good reason not to abandon you to your fate right now.”

That was the right thing to say. In the following weeks, Clarke would often look back at this exact moment and congratulate herself on excellent thinking under challenging conditions. Resourceful and solution-oriented. A+, Griffin.

Lexa spotted a broom closet, tore open the door, pushed Clarke in ahead of herself and yanked the door shut behind them. The door had closed only milliseconds before the troop of orangutans rounded the corner, shouting war cries and shaking spears made from smashed cafeteria chairs. Very on brand, Clarke noted, but that was all she had time to think about before realising how very close Lexa was. Lexa was panting softly and looking at Clarke. Clarke stared back and bit her lip, a grin slipping onto her face. Lexa quickly glanced down at Clarke’s lips, and that was all the warning Clarke got before Lexa stepped forwards and kissed her.

Fucking heavens opening, sending down chubby cherubs to sing their praise onto god for blessing the world. That’s what it felt like to kiss Lexa. It was out of breath but still soft, tender even. Clarke fucking melted right into it. Lexa was caressing her face gently, and Clarke’s hands came up to grip at Lexa’s leather jacket, stopping her from pulling away. When Clarke slipped her tongue out to tentatively seek entrance, Lexa not only opened her delicious lips, but she moaned as well.

The sound must have surprised Lexa as much as it surprised Clarke, because Lexa pulled away slightly, making Clarke whine. Their noses were still touching when Lexa spoke again.

“I’ll trade you my leather jacket.”

Clarke blinked in confusion. Thinking was hard when Lexa’s lips were just barely grazing her own.

“What?”

“You asked for one good reason why you shouldn’t leave me to my fate. I’ll trade you my leather jacket if you help me find Anya.”

Clarke grinned, leaning forwards to kiss Lexa again, slowly and languidly.

“Deal.”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It was Clarke’s idea to go to the dean’s office. The glee club had already proved that a break-in was possible, and besides, it was rumoured that the dean had a minifridge. It was a good a place as any to camp down and try to last the night.

The door was open when they got there, but the lock still worked. It would have to be enough regarding security. The office was pretty sizable and had a comfortable looking sofa on one side, complete with a large blanket. The dean’s desk was standing in the middle of the room. The only trace the glee club had left behind them was to cut the cord to the intercom.

It was a pretty clear message. No more rules.

The cut in Lexa’s side turned out to be worse than Clarke had realised. Lexa didn’t say anything, of course, but she winced when she bent down to have a look at the fridge.

“What the hell, Lexa. Get on the table and take off your shirt.”

“Excuse me?”

Clarke had only realised what she was saying about halfway through her sentence, but soldiered bravely on as if it was on purpose.

“There’s a first aid kit on the wall. I’ll bandage your side.”

Clarke definitely didn’t think that through. She didn’t think about what it might sound like. She didn’t think about who her patient was. And she most certainly didn’t think about the natural conclusion of her request, which was that Clarke would be sitting on the dean’s chair, practically feeling Lexa up while Lexa was sitting on the dean’s desk wearing nothing but a sports bra on her upper body.

Not that she minded, exactly. But Clarke from two days ago would have fainted at the very sight. War can harden even the softest of hearts, it seems.

Lexa looked amazing. Not that Clarke had expected anything else, but her arms were toned and hard and tanned, and Clarke constantly felt like the bottom was falling out of her stomach. Lexa’s hair was now officially completely free from their braids, and was tumbling down her shoulders.

Lexa smiled at her while Clarke worked on the bandages. Clarke fumbled and almost lost the fabric. Not _that_ hardened, then.

“Pre-med, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.”

“You realise this is a trade, of course.”

Lexa nodded seriously. “Of course. Medical skills are highly valued in war. What do you want in return?”

“You can keep a lookout while I sleep.”

“Done.”

Clarke worked silently for a little longer. The soft lamp on the desk was one of the few sources of light in the room, complimenting the ten or so candles Lexa had found in a drawer and spread around the office. The gentle flickering of light illuminated Lexa’s skin in sepia tones, and flawlessly hid Clarke’s rosy cheeks at having Lexa’s naked skin beneath her fingers. It felt more peaceful than anything had since Friday morning as Clarke finished up with the bandage.

Lexa grinned again. “I hope you’re not fulfilling some soldier and medic fantasy right now, Clarke.”

Clarke feigned offence. “Are you saying that even though I’ve just repaired your overworked torso with my trembling feminine fingers, you are not going to instantly fall in love with me and die valiantly for me on the battlefield?”

Lexa’s grin grew wider. “I mean, I think I can guarantee no valiant death on the battlefield. As for the rest, I make no promises.”

Clarke’s breath hitched. She looked up from the chair she was sitting in to meet Lexa’s gaze. Her eyes were burning, and suddenly Clarke could see nothing else. She got up, slowly, and stepped closer, until Lexa’s knees were on either side of her hips.

“Is this ok?” Clarke whispered as she looked up at Lexa. The desk was tall enough that Lexa was still above her, if only by and inch or two. Her hands already travelled upwards from Lexa’s knees. Lexa couldn’t look away from Clarke’s lips when she nodded, already leaning in.

Their lips met. The office could have caught fire and Clarke wouldn’t have noticed. Clarke pulled away again, and Lexa chased her lips.

“I just… This, this here, this isn’t…” Clarke floundered, gesticulating vaguely between them. Lexa let Clarke run out of stammering words before reaching up to take her hands into her own. It calmed her down a little. Clarke swallowed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“I know,” said Lexa, gentle eyes staring into Clarkes. “Me neither. This means something.”

Clarke let out a breath. She felt like Lexa had her own gravity, pulling her in, and she didn’t plan to resist. “Yeah.”

Lexa positively beamed at Clarke’s concession. She reached up, still holding Clarke’s hands, to put Clarke’s arms around her shoulders, using the momentum to pull her back into the kiss.

There was no going back from that point on. Clarke’s hands were in Lexa’s hair. Lexa’s hands were circling Clarke’s waist, pulling her closer and pressing her against Lexa. Lexa was soft and warm and overpowering. Clarke was so lost in the feeling of it all that she barely noticed Lexa lifting the hem of Clarke’s shirt, breaking the kiss to pull it over her head. When Clarke pushed herself back against Lexa they were skin to skin, and Clarke lost all cognitive ability.

Clarke’s bra came off next, and Lexa took a long moment to admire the sight in front of her. Clarke blushed, but the blushed quickly turned to something else entirely when Lexa hoisted her up to sit in her lap, leaning in and taking a nipple in her mouth. Clarke ground down, almost involuntary, and Lexa shuddered. One hand securing Clarke in place around her hips, the other in Clarke’s hair. Clarke felt like putty in her arms.

Lexa held one hand around her waist and got up, supporting Clarke’s weight completely as she caught Clarke’s lips in a searing kiss. She was so strong. Clarke wrapped her legs around her. In one elegant motion, Lexa had used her free hand to push everything on the desk onto the floor. Then she turned them around, laying Clarke down on the desk, as Clarke made short work of her sports bra and let her hands roam over the skin underneath. The look in Lexa’s eyes as Clarke’s fingers tightened around her nipples was to kill for.

Clarke’s pants and underwear were next, finding their way to the floor on top of the growing pile of discarded clothes. Lexa gently took Clarke’s hand and intertwined their fingers, leading Clarke to lay down fully on the desk and releasing the death-grip her legs had been maintaining around Lexa’s hips. Lexa hovered over her, hand not leaving Clarke’s and eyes never breaking contact as her fingers finally found their way between Clarke’s legs.

Clarke almost came right there and then. Lexa’s eyes burning fire into Clarke’s, refusing to let her go. It was almost too much. And at the same time, it was the only thing in the world which kept her grounded. Clarke wanted to close her eyes, protect herself from the intensity of Lexa’s gaze as the woman above her set up a steady pace. But she couldn’t; the green eyes kept her there, never letting go, and they were everything Clarke could see. She knew she was writhing, knew she was moaning, knew her fingers were lost in Lexa’s hair and pulling with an intensity which must be painful, but she could see nothing but Lexa’s eyes above her.

The next moment Lexa buried her face between Clarke’s breasts, and Clarke’s eyes rolled back into her head. She held onto Lexa like her life depended on it, feeling the orgasm build within her.

She didn’t last long. The first time, anyway.

Neither for that matter did Lexa, when Clarke had her naked and writhing in the dean’s leather chair sometime later, Clarke’s face buried between her legs. The sight of Lexa above her, eyes shut and panting, sweat gathering on her naked torso and glistening in the candlelight was one of the most beautiful things Clarke had ever seen. Lexa’s fingers were entwined in Clarke’s hair, holding her in place and begging for mercy at the same time. Lexa’s jaw was shaking as the shudders overtook her body, and Clarke licked her lips, tasting Lexa and already getting hungry for more.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning found them both lying on the desk, rolled up in the blanket from the sofa, skin against skin and heart against heart. The light was streaming in through the window, bathing them in gentle sunshine. Lexa was stroking Clarke’s hair. Clarke was clutching at Lexa’s waist, no more strength left in her hands for anything else.

“Lexa?”

“Mhm?”

Clarke nuzzled closer into her neck. “We fucked in the dean’s office.”

“We made love in the dean’s office, Clarke. Don’t be crude.”

Clarke grinned against her skin.

“On the dean’s desk, even. And his chair.”

“Don’t worry,” Lexa said, kissing Clarke’s temple so gently that if Clarke hadn’t been falling for her anyway, she would have fallen then. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Clarke pulled away slightly, just so she could look into Lexa’s eyes when she kissed her again. It felt peaceful. It felt heavenly.

That’s when the door burst open and Octavia crashed through it, yelling “AHA!”

She looked murderous. She must have had another sleepless night, Clarke figured, judging by the red veins in her eyes and the desperate expression on her pale face. She looked rugged and worn, like a woman at the end of her rope. She must have been searching for Clarke all night, with no success. Until now. And she was walking forward slowly, smelling blood, looking like a tigress coming for a deer it knew had nowhere left to hide.

Quick thinking had always been one of Clarke’s strengths, however, and she did the only sensible thing under the circumstances. She threw back the blanket, leaving her nude body uncovered.

Octavia stopped in her tracks. Skin on full display, and Lexa’s hand leisurely slung over Clarke’s waist, Octavia couldn’t help but stare. “What the fuck, Clarke?!”

Clarke grinned. “No killing naked people, Octavia. You know the rules.”

Octavia looked mutinous. For a second Clarke thought Octavia might kill her, like actually kill her, not plastic-knife-to-the-throat kill her but the real deal. Then Octavia schooled her expression into something more contained.

“Fine. I’ll wait. You will have to get dressed eventually, and I will be two steps behind you until you do. And you can explain to me while we wait what you are doing naked on the dean’s desk with a stranger.”

Brief flashes of living the rest of her life undressed and being followed everywhere by a homicidal Octavia flittered through Clarke’s head. Not impossible, she decided, but also not the most convenient.

Maybe some other time.

“Well, you can,” Clarke countered. “you can, sure, but Lexa here,” she indicated vaguely to Lexa, who was half-heartedly trying to keep her naked body hidden behind Clarke’s, “has got _your_ name. And I don’t think there’s a rule against naked people killing others.”

Lexa, as if on cue, raised her head and gave Octavia a level glare. How anyone can look that scary while being naked as the day they were born, Clarke would never know.

It probably shouldn’t turn her on, but hey. What can you do.

Octavia’s gaze flittered from Lexa, to Clarke, to Lexa again. Then she turned around and bolted.

Clarke chuckled. “Thanks, Lex.”

“Anytime. Well lied. With any luck, she will run into Anya before we even see her again and we will have got two birds with one stone.”

“Mhm,” Clarke said, her hands pulling the blanket back over them before letting her hands slip further down Lexa’s body. “And in the meantime…”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Clarke insisted on giving Lexa some proper war paint before they left the office. They sat cross-legged on the desk, facing each other in the sunlight coming in through the window, as Clarke painted lines of liquid eyeliner on Lexa’s face, creating a black mask which ran like blood down her face. She looked amazing. She had always looked amazing, Clarke supposed, but now she looked awe-inspiring as well. Well, right up until Clarke realised that Lexa was forgetting what she was talking about whenever Clarke glanced at her lips.

By the time Clarke was done they were giggling so much that Lexa almost had to give up on refreshing Clare’s war paint too, and had to physically hold Clarke’s head in place to make her sit still. Lexa used a blue lipstick, two horizontal lines on each cheek. It sat above the worn black stripes from the day before.

Clarke kept Lexa’s leather jacket. Together the two of them didn’t look half bad.

It was the last day of the game. The last day before the Dean would come back on Monday and have the president of the student council lynched for what had happened over the weekend. The last day before the board of directors would get involved, and the heads would start rolling as the war trials for crimes against campus began. Today was all or nothing.

Their mission as they walked side by side out of the building, looking around corners and keeping an eye on each other’s blind spots in perfect sync, was fairly straight forward. Get to Indra so that Clarke could take her out. Where they found Indra, Anya probably wouldn’t be far behind, and Lexa could take out her too. Then Lexa would be on the hunt for Octavia, which Clarke was very prepared to help her with.

Lexa’s shoulder bag slung was over Clarke’s shoulder, filled with cans of soda and snacks they had found in the dean’s office. They were ready for the long game. Even a good siege, if necessary.

The campus looked almost abandoned as they walked, like a wasteland after an apocalypse. Had so many people fallen during the night? The quad was quiet, abandoned. The only sound came from the far side, outside the gates to the University, where what looked like a group of people who were out of the game had gathered to watch the final phases. Clarke could see most of the football jocks from the cafeteria, and some of Raven’s former Queen’s Gard. Lincoln gave her a cheery wave and a thumbs-up.

Clarke and Lexa had checked three buildings before they found any sign of life. They were back in the building where Clarke had first lost Octavia to the dark side, the building where Clarke and Lexa had first met in the ventilation system. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours since that? It didn’t feel like it. Clarke felt like she couldn’t remember a time before Lexa had been walking side by side with her wherever she went.

They could hear voices coming from the library.

“Goddamn, Indra. I know this is where the trail runs cold, no one has seen Lexa since that kid yesterday who swore she was climbing out of the ventilation system here with that Griffin girl. But that was yesterday; she’ll be long gone by now.”

“I know, Anya. Maybe it’s time to look for your target, and maybe we will find Lexa on the way. Who did you say you had, again?”

Clarke and Lexa peered around the doorway. Anya and Indra were standing in the middle of the library, facing each other. Clarke looked at Lexa. Lexa nodded.

It was too easy. Three nerf darts each found their targets, and Anya and Indra dropped to the ground. Clarke walked leisurely up to Indra, whose eyes were murderous. Yet she could do nothing as Clarke causally got her knife out and held it to her throat.

“Indra MacMillan, I pronounce you dead.”

On the other side of the room, Clarke could hear Lexa express similar sentiments to Anya. Indra’s face was twisted in anger as she reluctantly handed Clarke her note.

That was when Clarke noticed something strange outside the window. The crowd by the gates was growing as more and more fallen soldiers showed up to find out who the winner would be. And, by Lincoln’s side stood a sullen and grumpy-looking Octavia.

Octavia was out. That meant that Anya had gotten to her before Lexa and Clarke had, and that Anya would now be hunting for Clarke. And that meant…

Clarke looked over at Lexa. Anya was lying on the floor, plastic knife next to her head. Lexa was reading her note, and Clarke could see her eyes grow wide. Then she looked over at Clarke.

Clarke looked down at her own note. In large, bold letters it read ‘Lexa Woods’. She looked back at Lexa.

Their gaze lasted for three very long seconds before they both simultaneously bolted to find cover. Clarke threw herself over the same library desk where it all has started only a day before. Lexa jumped over one of the hideous and uncomfortable sofas on the other side of the room.

Tense silence ensued.

The alliance was broken. The team was over. It had been a good run, but Clarke had been a fool to forget that by the end it would always be either her or Lexa. Two people couldn’t win the game. That was why friendship had failed and all bonds of fellowship had been broken over the span of two days. Lexa and she were no exception.

Still, Clarke felt stabbed in the chest in a way she hadn’t with either Octavia or Raven.

Clarke peeked over the desk, and saw the top of Lexa’s head disappear back behind the sofa.

“How many darts have you got left, Lexa?” Clarke called to the other side of the room.

No reply.

“Because I’m pretty sure I’ve got more than you.”

Lexa’s voice was slightly muted, but audible just the same. “You did, before I took ten darts out of your pocket while you were napping this morning.”

Clarke felt her pockets. Damn.

“Please tell me you didn’t sleep with me to win a game of murder assassin.”

“No, I slept with you, and now I am going to win a game of murder assassin. Correlation is not causation, Clarke”

“You were supposed to keep an eye out in exchange for my medical services, you traitor.”

Clarke could practically _hear_ Lexa’s grin.

“I did. Besides, the bandage came off immediately after when we… Anyway. That medical service wasn’t worth paying for.”

Clarke frowned. The game was a lot less fun now, when Lexa wasn’t by her side anymore.

The grate to the ventilation shaft behind her was still missing the three screws, Clarke saw. She could slip out undetected again, flee the scene and come back to take out Lexa when she was more prepared for it. The two of them were probably the last players in the game. Clarke could still win.

Clarke reached out a hand towards the grate, but paused. She _could_ go. 

But… why would she?

“Hey, Lexa?”

This could go one out of two ways, Clarke figured. On one hand, they could stay here, locked in battle, playing by rules they didn’t get to decide themselves. 

On the other hand...

“I’ll trade you,” Clarke checked her pockets, the bag, and her holster of darts, “eight nerf darts, your leather jacket back, two cans of coke, three packets of chips, your shoulder bag, our war paint, my nerf gun and my bottle of whisky.”

Clarke sat up to look over the desk again, her head and upper body completely unprotected. On the other side of the room, she could see Lexa’s head peeking over the sofa again with a confused expression.

“For what?”

“If I can take you out to dinner tomorrow.” She took her gun by the handle and threw it along the floor. It slid to a stop two feet in front of the sofa.

Lexa followed the gun with her eyes. When it came to a stop she looked back up at Clarke. Her face slowly broke into a smile which made Clarke week in the knees. Definitely the right choice, Griffin. Well done. 

“Done.”


End file.
